


A Little Problem

by obscuriten



Category: Original Work
Genre: ABDL, Daddy Kink, Diapers, Drinking, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Forced Feminization, Forced Infantilism, Humiliation, M/M, Power Imbalance, Scat, Situational Humiliation, Total Power Exchange, Unhealthy Relationships, Watersports
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:22:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29754012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obscuriten/pseuds/obscuriten
Summary: Jamie met a new friend at just the right time in his life.Or, just the wrong one, depending on who you ask.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character/Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 6
Kudos: 62





	A Little Problem

**Author's Note:**

> i was feeling guilt about starting a new work with two ungoing but alas these are kinks i have and they do not fit into anything else i’m writing and i can’t stop thinking about it and i want to write it so here i am. writing it.  
> here you are, reading this.  
> read the fucking tags. i don’t care if this isn’t your thing, i do not care. 
> 
> straight up: a character gets manipulated into accepting feminization and infantilism. then routinely humiliated. the situation is sexualized. that’s it. although i will say this won’t read like a typical “forced into diapers” story with kidnapping and all of those things (all fun in their own way) it’s worth noting that this isn’t consensual really. the themes of emotional manipulation are heavy in this. there’s no kink negotiation here. and no one is going to get their comeuppance for that. blah blah blah extreme kink writer disclaimer inserted here about not condoning exerting your power boner in real life situations. it’s just porn. don’t think too hard about it.

“God, no, no, no…” Jamie was practically beside himself. He was such a fucking idiot. He let himself get drunker than he had ever been, downing every little shot his coworkers poured him at happy hour. They were egging him on. He had never felt accepted, hell, even acknowledged at his office. It was the first time he felt like he was in on it, and he was sloppily realizing that he wasn’t, he was the joke.

He had to piss so badly, and he practically ran back to his dinky apartment 12 blocks away. He hated using public toilets. Other than the general grossness of them, he found the resounding flush of the toilet in the stalls overwhelming. And he hated using the urinals, hated having his cock out in public after the teasing he endured in middle school. 

But now, he was the right cock, because he was full to bursting, hopping from one foot to another, outside of the rusted gate of his building, and he couldn’t find his fucking keys.

“I didn’t…” he whimpered, rechecking all of his pockets. He had to pause midway through it, press the heel of his palm to his cock, praying his overcoat would cover the visual to any passerbyers. He squirmed in his own hold, squeezing. 

The overwhelming urge subsided, and he inhaled a lungful of dusty, frigid air. He realized the pinpricks stabbing at his eyes were close to tears falling, and he turned, looking desperately up and down his dusty block for a solution. 

Seven o’clock in late May had dusk just fallen over the streets. The bodega on the corner certainly wouldn’t have facilities. It was another ten blocks back to the restaurant district where a public restroom was more likely. He couldn’t waddle himself back to the bar with wet pants. _Fuck._

“Are you okay?” A brusque voice asked over his shoulder.

Standing there might be the Oxford definition of a man if Jamie had ever seen one. He was tall. He wore a crisp looking suit, with an expensive wool-resembling overcoat thrown over one of his arms. It must be cold when he left for work, doing whatever it is he does that gets him the expensive timepiece on his wrist. He was young to look so established, couldn’t be that much older than Jamie. But Jamie hardly looked his age, was carded anytime he even breathed near an establishment that sold alcohol. Barely scraping 5’ 6”, Jamie had fat cheeks despite how slender his body had become from stress, and a brown haircut that was far too short for his age, and never seemed to do anything. He was impatiently waiting for it to grow back out. 

“Erm, yes, I-“ Jamie rambled. He couldn’t swallow his pride and tell the stranger of his dilemma. 

“You’re, uh,” the man had dark hair that looked like it would come close to swooping over his eyes were it not so neatly maintained. His nose sloped elegantly. His jaw was square and cleanly visible, low body fat clear as day, even under the proper suit. “Look, can I call someone for you?” He pulled out his cellphone, large, caseless, sleek silver. It looked like he had pulled it out of the box an hour ago.

“Erhm,” another uncomfortable urge panged him. He nearly buckled over. The man looked alarmed, like Jamie was going to faint, and reached out to steady him. “I just _reallyneedtousethebathroomactually_ ,” he all but whimpered. He figured his high pitched tone was nearly unintelligible, but the man steadied him assuredly.

“Oh,” he mumbled. Jamie fidgeted. “Do you live here?” The man eyed the building so warily, like he was concerned it would sleazily proposition him in a back alley.

“lost my key,” Jamie replied pitifully. “I’m just,” tears pricked his eyes again. Even in his thoroughly intoxicated state, this was the most shame he’s felt since he was a preteen.

“Well, shit, buddy, don’t cry.” The man said worriedly, putting firm hands on his shoulders. Jamie hastily grabbed his jacket before it could slip off his arm. “You cold?”

“No, ‘s just fall. Gonna fall.” The man eyed him warily, looking so hard that Jamie was trying to figure out what to do with his face to make it into whatever the man was looking for.

“Fuck it,” he grunted. “I’ll take you to mine.” He grabbed Jamie by the arm.

“You live here?” He asked with surprise, looking back at the rusted gates.

If Jamie were sober, he’d be offended by the man’s snort. “No. It’s two aves down. Can you make it?”

Jamie nodded so quickly he nearly hurt his neck. He was rewarded with the first of the man’s smiles. His teeth were so white and straight Jamie felt like he would be able to see his reflection in them if he were to try hard enough. 

“Good kid. Move it.” 

Jamie clutched his coat as they walked. For Jamie, it was definitely a power walk, but it seemed to be the man’s usual stride. He didn’t look bothered at all, navigating them down to a much nicer part of the city, less than a half mile away. The buildings changed from worn down to cleanly polished, painted, with blooms outside of every door. Jamie stumbled on his footing, feeling the alcohol slam his system even harder. The man kept a firm hand on his elbow, making sure he kept pace. He was going to owe this man his first born when he got out of all of this.

“Mr. Garrison!” The door man brightly enthused, and Jamie blinked, slow on the draw, and realized they must have reached his building. The doorman was poshly dressed, and the man nodded at him. Mr. Garrison, Jamie thought. 

“Edgar,” he smiled. “I told you to call me Henry. Look, I want to hear about how it went last night with your wife,” Jamie fought another urge, trying to repel the urge to double over. The man, Henry, looked down at him. His smile was fond, nearly amused. “But I’ve got to get this one upstairs.”

“He alright?”

“Too much to drink, I bet,” Henry clamped down a hand on the back of his neck. “Let’s go, dancey.” 

The elevator ride bordered on torturous. Jamie would love to know more about this man, this Henry, his actual savior, but he was too busy making sure he didn’t piss himself in a carpeted elevator.

The door pinged open and Jamie threw himself out, despite not having a clue where they were going. Henry chuckled behind him, and Jamie heard the luxurious sound of the man’s keys jingling in his hand. 

“‘m sorry,” Jamie apologized as Henry walked at the same pace, while quick, not particularly rushed, to his door. “‘m so sorry.”

Henry smiled down at his keys, opening a door with a gilded golden handle. Golden. No, no, no no- “Don’t apologize unless you’ve-“

Jamie stepped through the door the second it opened, not taking in the apartment, nor the small step up that led to it. He stumbled, the gates opened and the rush fell out. He felt his pants grow wet before he even realized it.

“wet yourself,” Henry finished with a tired sigh. 

Tears came next. 

* * *

Jamie could _not_ stop blubbering apologies, nor regain the general control of his limbs as the last wave of tequila, the one he tried to push away, only to let it be shoved back into his hand, hit him. 

“It’s, ‘s an acc-“ hiccup, “accident, promise. ‘m so sorry,” He said as he was marched into Henry’s pristine, white tiled bathroom. Henry sighed deeply. 

“Can you shower?” He asked him, pointing to the glass-doored shower behind him. Jamie blinked, like he had never heard of the concept of bathing, let alone what a shower was. “Christ, you’re drunk as hell, aren’t you?”

A fresh crop of tears sprung into Jamie’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Just,” Jamie hadn’t even noticed when, but Henry had taken off his suit jacket and tie. He was left in a crisp white button up. He unbuttoned his shirt sleeves and rolled up the hem. He leaned around Jamie to open the door just enough to turn the shower on. Jamie felt another dribble of piss leave him at the sound of the gushing water. God, he was _disgusting._

“Off we get, c’mon.” Before Jamie knew what was happening, the man’s hand was on his buckle. He didn’t know why, but he subconsciously pressed into the touch. He wanted Henry’s hands all over him. Henry chuckled, undoing the buckle for him. “You know the rest, there we go,” he encouraged as Jamie got the idea, and shucked off his pants. He flipped around, nearly tumbling out of his pants for the sake of modesty. Modesty being: hiding his small dick from the sight of this big man. It was one of his biggest insecurities, next to his height. 

“This doesn- I don’t,” he stammered, “never done this before, I never. Never.”

“I’m sure, pal,” Henry replied placatingly. 

“Never during the day,” Jamie continued to defend himself despite Henry’s lack of questioning him. He was too drunk to notice Henry’s pause behind him. He kicks uselessly at the hem of his pant, still stuck to his socked foot. Henry knelt down, peeled the pants away, then one disturbingly wet sock, then the other, holding Jamie like he was probable to fall over. “I- I never did, I promise.”

“Mhmm, buddy, you can’t shower with your shirt on.” Jamie immediately tried to wrestle it off his frame. It felt like his arms had been replaced with al dente spaghetti. He heard Henry chuckle behind him again. “Drunk adults are just toddlers, isn’t that what they say?” He mused, pulling the shirt off for him. “In you get,” he nudged him gently toward the shower. Jamie stumbled, nearly blindly into it. “I’ll leave something for you to wear on the counter.”

“Thank you,” Jamie moaned as the water hit his skin, “m’ sorry, thank you.”

“Mhmm,” was all Henry said before shutting the door behind him. 

The shower led Jamie to pastures of slightly more coherency. Expansive enough for him to feel shame over how badly he had just humiliated himself, slight enough to ignore the bizarre stirring in his lower belly even just thinking of Henry brought to him. He wished he could fling himself out of the slender, high window above the shower, just so he didn’t have to face the man again. He would rath high-tail it back to his apartment in a towel and figure it out from there than look him in the eye again. But he’s not sure he could get up there sober, let alone drunk and slippery and oddly moisturized from the expensive soap he found lining Henry’s shower. 

But, shivering, wrapped in a towel, padding cautiously into the doorway didn’t lead him to another confrontation with the man. The pristine living room remained the same, but he heard his voice faintly from the other room.

“Are you an idiot, Paul? No, I’m not being a dick. I’m asking you politely: has some sort of accident happened in your life that made you a complete fucking moron-“

There was a note left for him on the counter left by a pile of soft looking sweats and his cellphone.

_Your clothes are in the dryer if you want to stick around for them. You should try and nap it off before you go looking for your keys. Left a blanket on the couch. But you can consider these a gift if you want._

_-H._

_PS. Get better friends._

Jamie slipped into the grey sweats and humiliatingly baggy boxers with shaking hands. He should have gone. Came back the next day to return the clothes to the doorman, maybe with a note of his own, apologizing profusely. He settled for sitting on the couch just long enough to check his phone, see if anyone texted him about leaving his keys at the bar...

* * *

When he woke up, it was dark in the living room. He blinked blearily in the low light. He had a blanket tucked over his torso, but his neck was crooked awkwardly unto the cushions. 

“Hey there, sleeping beauty.” He heard Henry’s voice croak from behind him. He jumped, heart beating steadily in his chest. He was too sober for this now. 

“I’m so sorry,” he spit out before thinking.

Henry laughed. He was wearing a more casual button up, sleeves rolled up. He was drinking from a shaker bottle, protein probably, leaned over some documents at his expensive looking kitchen counter.

“Sobered up?” Henry asked him, flipping the page.

“Yeah, uh.” Jamie rubbed at his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Nearly 10. I was going to go out for a drink with some friends, but I was waiting for your little body to catch up.” He smirked. He took a hard sip from his bottle. “Not sure if I’m in the mood now, cleaning up piss does that to a guy.”

“Your floors,” Jamie despaired, mortified. He pressed his face into his hands. “I’ll pay for it.”

“You’ll pay for… what exactly?”

“Any damages, I swear.”

Henry laugh, smooth and rich sounding. Almost like it didn’t belong to a man as young as he seemed to be. “You can’t afford my floors, kiddo.” 

Jamie balked. “I have a job,” he squeaked defensively. “I’m 24.”

“Jesus, are you really? I thought I had found some poor college kid.” 

“It’s, it’s my height. I… get that a lot.”

“Yeah,” Henry looked up finally, eyes scanning down Jamie’s frame. “You’re tiny.”

The emasculating comment would have sent Jamie into an angry huff were it spoken by anyone else. Wouldn’t it have? No one had said such a thing to him before. Would he have found himself uncomfortably squirmy in a similar situation with another person?

“I probably can’t afford your floors,” he admitted. He stared down at the hardwood, real hardwood, not laminate, “I’m so sorry. What can I do?”

“A thank you will suffice.” Henry replied gruffly. He turned his eyes back to his paperwork.

Jamie’s shame deepened. He had pissed on this man’s floor, bathed in his shower, was wearing his clothes, slept on his couch, and he was right in requesting proper gratitude from him. “Thank you, I’m sorry. I should have said that already. Thank you.”

“Good boy.” 

Maybe Jamie was still a little drunk, because he felt his dick gain interest at the man’s words. Fuck, what was _wrong_ with him?

“You… have a really nice apartment. And clothes.” 

Really, what the _fuck_ was wrong with him?

Henry looked up with a bemused smile. He stood up fully on black socked feet. “Thanks.”

“H-how old are you?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Uh.” Jamie didn’t know. “You know how old I am.”

“I’m 28.” 

“Oh. You’re really successful for your age.”

Henry rounded the counter, “how can you tell?” He pulled a glass from a cabinet by his stainless steel refrigerator, and filled it with water from the dispenser on the front. 

“Just… the place, ‘s nice.” 

“I do well for myself,” Henry replied evenly. He strode over to the couch, and set down the glass of water in front of Jamie. “You’re gonna want to drink that.”

“Okay,” he exhaled. He listened, shutting his eyes as he gulped down mouthful after mouthful. He missed Henry’s dark gaze on him, relishing his obedience, as he did so.

“So,” Henry slouched on the couch next to him, leaning an elbow on the back of it as Jamie set his glass back down, “you gonna tell me how you ended up having an accident in my apartment?”

 _Having an accident_ was such a juvenile way to put it, Jamie’s cheeks flushed. “I, uhm, I was having a drink with my coworkers, and they kept ordering me rounds, and I-“ he fumbled with the hairs on the back of his neck. “I sound like such an idiot,” he groaned. 

“The bar didn’t have a restroom?” Henry quirked an eyebrow.

Public restrooms scare me did not seem like the appropriate response to gain any sense of dignity, so Jamie just shook his head. “And I’ve been trying to become friends with my coworkers for… a while now…”

“They don’t like you?”

Jamie shook his head again, “I wasn’t sure. Now, I mean, I think-“

Henry sighed and stood up, saving Jamie from continuing the humiliating admission. “They sound like assholes… what’s your name?”

“Jamie.”

Henry chuckled. “Cute,” it was barely audible. Or did Jamie imagine it? 

“They are,” Jamie spluttered his response to Henry’s previous statement. “None of them would have done what you did for me… they probably would have laughed.”

Henry opened his fridge, shoving the rest of the shaker in amongst green-lined shelves. Healthy eater, made sense when one looked the way he did. “No one said I’m not an asshole, Jamie.” He muttered. He pulled a beer from his fridge and let it swing shut. “Think my night’s fucked. Want to watch a movie or some shit?”

“Wh- what?” 

Henry shrugged and took a swig. “Seems like you need an actual friend.” 

Jamie did, to be honest. He hadn’t had any real luck since many of his college friends ended up ditching New York for places with similar jobs and cheaper rent. He shrunk in on himself. He clutched at the blanket carefully. “I- if you want to, that.” He inhaled, “that would be nice.”

Henry stared at him. “Can I trust you with a beer?” He asked, looking back to his fridge. 

“‘course,” Jamie squeaked.

* * *

Henry should not have trusted him with a beer. It was only two in, and he was borderline tearing up, sitting on his couch with him. Henry’s eyes were sympathetic as Jamie explained just how miserable his life had become, Netflix never even opened. A job he didn’t like, a long distance high school girlfriend of 7 years, a body too skinny from under eating and stress, an apartment he could barely afford, a roommate who was never home, and coworkers who didn’t like him.

Henry was neither overly gentle nor harsh with him, recommending he make changes, hit the gym, send his resume out, join a social group. While practical in theory, it all sounded so overwhelming in application, when Jamie was already unhappy as he was. 

“Yeah,” he replied to the advice non-committally. He wiped at a tear with the hem of Henry’s sweatshirt before it threatened to fall. 

“Do you need to piss?” Henry asked strangely.

“What?”

“Well,” Henry mused, “last time you cried you really had to go, so-“ he explained in a tone just joking enough to get through Jamie’s sadness fog and make him smile. 

“No,” Jamie answered, laugh just leaving his mouth. He subconsciously tugged the blanket down, pressing his hand near his crotch. “Don’t think so.”

“Hm,” Henry hummed. “Maybe you just need some sleep, then, buddy?”

“Yeah,” Jamie said, even though his heart cracked a little at the hint he should leave the only person to show him some real kindness in a while to get back to his real, obviously successful, life. “I know I should get going. Thank you for-“ he stumbled.

Henry caught him without standing, steadying him with firm hands on his hips. “What, you think you’re gonna go get your keys now?”

Shit. Jamie forgot about that.

“Shit. I forgot about that.” 

Henry snorted, “shocker.” He stood, and Jamie tried not to mourn the loss of the heat on his hips. “Stay over, little man. You can crash in my spare.”

Jamie blinked wildly up at Henry, “this is a 2-bed?” His head swam with curiosity at what Henry must be making to afford an apartment that was easily 3,500, 4,000 dollars a month. 

“Eh, it’s New York. Second bedroom’s more like a closet.” Henry shrugged modestly. Jamie gaped. “Look, I just had my niece stay over for a visit, so no judging the decor, alright?” 

“I wouldn’t.”

Henry smiled, “didn’t think you would.” 

The bedroom was small, but probably the same size as Henry’s in his apartment. It looked larger than his did because it was so barren and empty. A simple frameless cot was shoved into a corner, adorned with pastel pink sheets and comforter. A large tawny rabbit sat atop a pillow.

Jamie didn’t realize how tired he was until he flopped on top of it. He giggled upon impact. “‘s soft,” he mumbled, rubbing his cheek into the cloud-soft bedding. 

“Jesus, kiddo,” Henry muttered. Jamie blinked up at him. Henry’s smile looked… fond. It made his heart flutter. “You’re such a fucking lightweight.”

“Mmm,” Jamie already found a haze of sleep falling over him, not even tucked into the covers yet. His body was heavy and his eyes were heavier. 

He was jostled either thirty seconds or six hours later, and he whined with deep discontent. Whichever it was, it wasn’t enough sleep. Henry laughed above him, and his eyes fluttered open at the sound. There he was, handsome as hell, leaned over him and smirking wildly. 

“Whattaya-“ Jamie sleepily mused, “doin?” He asked, head lolling to the side like he might not stay awake long enough to hear the response.

Henry had his hands on the waist band of Jamie’s borrowed sweats. 

“D-don’t,” Jamie weakly protested. “I,” he hiccuped, “I have a girlfriend.” He should have thought more deeply about that his only protest was thinking of Elle, the sweet, chubby blonde girl that waited for him in South Dakota.

“Got the wrong parts for me, dude.”

“Then why-“ his pants and boxers were pulled off him in one smooth motion. “Hey!”

“Hey, yourself. These are nice sheets. I don’t know if you can be trusted.” Henry replied seriously. 

“Wha- whassit…” Jamie fought the exhaustion to examine the pale pink slipping up his legs.

“It’s a grown up pull-up, lightweight. Had them because my niece still wets the bed sometimes. Better safe than sorry.”

“I can do it,” Jamie didn’t have the energy to argue the point, batted the man’s hands away from his knees, and shuffled himself into the soft cotton. It was made for women, with a stretchy waistband and a little floral design on his tummy. Worst for worse, there wasn’t really a fit problem. The material had just enough room to gently cup his junk, no more, no less. He rolled over into the bedding and shuffled himself under it, if only to hide from Henry. He had one last glimmer of thought before crashing into a deep sleep, that he hoped Henry’s niece was at least a teenager.

“Night, buddy,” he heard Henry’s smooth voice before the door clicked shut.


End file.
